The Show

                The sun shined brightly in the eastern sky. It was a beautiful day, “A perfect day,” thought Nicholas silently and solemnly to himself, “Not a cloud in the sky, and not too hot.” But Nicholas felt the heat as he walked toward the rising sun, his eyes squinting with the morning glare. It was a big day.
         
              The crowd got closer. Nicholas began to sweat, the warm sun combined with his apprehension formed tiny droplets of water on his brow, under his arms, all over his body. He was indeed nervous; the black suit did not help either, but it was a special occasion. He needed to look good. Earlier, before leaving, he had combed his thick black hair, all back, it holding thanks to the brilliantine his mother had bought him. As he stared at himself in the mirror while fixing his suit, Nicholas could not help but feel a bit annoyed. He had not slept in the past few days and it showed. His tight face felt bloated and looked pale, his small mouth did not want to close, and there were heavy bags under his eyes. He noticed that his crystal blue eyes had lost much of their color and were now almost grey, but his new suit made up for it, bought just the day before and tailored to perfection. No expense was spared, save the tie. His throat already felt tight enough.
         
              “Almost there now.” The crowd, all finely dressed in light linen suits and pastel summer dresses, parted in two. Nicholas had heard the din of their roars and cheers from a distance when the mob had first caught wind of him, but now the sound was deafening. They were cheering and shouting for Nicholas, who always being the shy type, felt very uncomfortable, but he did his best to shake it off. His performance was at hand.
         
              Walking through the parted crowd up to the stage, Nicholas thought about how he had arrived there. Paris, a well liked and popular man, had discovered him. His popularity made it so that Nicholas’ name spread as well as word of his act. This Paris also happened to have a powerful and affluent father. It was he, more so than his son, who made all of what Nicholas now saw before his eyes happen: the large crowd, the stage, the publicity, the support crew, all him, all his money, all to see Nicholas could perform.
         
              And perform he would. With the crowd still cheering, Nicholas walked up the stairs to take his place at center stage. The sun and the crowd were beginning to get to him; he was sweating profusely and his throat felt bone dry. Slowly, inevitably, he made his way to center stage. He faced the crowd, light shining on their faces and he with the sun to his back, a dark eclipse. The crowd started cheering even louder now; their anticipation becoming almost unbearable. Nicholas felt his throat tighten even more. He knew it was almost time to start. The door dropped. He felt his body crack as if it were a whip that had just tasted the flesh of a man’s back. He fidgeted uncontrollably, yet felt strangely calm. The show had just begun.